


Obedience

by nevtelenwriting



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, M/M, Minor Violence, Original Character Death(s), Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Torture, Torture of OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:37:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2463620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevtelenwriting/pseuds/nevtelenwriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brock Rumlow is still new to Hydra. Pierce decides to teach him a quick lesson on doing what he's told.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obedience

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell I'm a master at titles? 
> 
> I couldn't not post something for Rumlow Week on tumblr, so I'm transferring it over here, as well. I love this sadomasochistic asshole.

There was a time when Rumlow had been young and stupid, too. Years chipped away his arrogance; but not without a little conditioning. When he had been handpicked by Pierce, he had no idea what he was in for.

“ _Rumlow."_

The level, stern command from Commander Pierce made Rumlow halt his next blow, bloodied knife poised above his victim's—captive's hand. The captive whimpered something in his native tongue, begging to keep his remaining fingers. At least, Rumlow assumed. He wasn't fluent in  _every_  fucking language.

Interrogation. Though he was still pretty new, he's been singled out as an interrogator. Rumlow was good at it, or rather, he was adept at inflicting agony. Lately he'd been getting notices of probationary warning, however, since his fatality rate was remarkably higher than considered standard.

“Stop.”

The single-word order made Rumlow frown, but he tossed the knife away regardless. His lip twitched when the pitiful fuck in front of him wheezed in relief. Before he turned to face his boss he punched the man hard enough in the face to knock him over, chair he was tied to and all.

“Rumlow!” Pierce snapped his name this time, aggravation clear in his tone. Brock scoffed and cracked his knuckles, following him out of the interrogation room and into the barren hallway.

Once the door clicked shut Pierce turned to him with a barely perceptible frown, but Rumlow set his shoulders back immediately, hands clasped at the small of his spine.  He was still wet behind the ears with Hydra, but not as a soldier.

Pierce sighed through his nose, and then removed his glasses, retrieving the handkerchief from his front pocket to wipe them down.

“I believe I said to extract information, agent,” Pierce said, frown still set on his lips as he polished the lenses. Rumlow's eyes tracked the movement of his fingers curling over cloth. "Not remove parts.”

Rumlow's mouth twitched into a brief smirk, still watching his hands. “He talked, didn't he?”

At that, Pierce arched a brow at him. “In pieces.”

“All due respect, sir, but it was to my knowledge our prisoner was not meant to survive his capture,” Rumlow replied, perhaps with a bit too much sarcasm than acceptable.

Pierce placed his glasses back on his nose, leveling his narrowed gaze on Rumlow that made him shift uncomfortably. “And with all due  _respect,_ agent. I believe I gave you a job. One you deliberately bent the rules for.”

Rumlow swallowed, “I didn't do anything you didn't specify.”

He really needed to learn to bite his tongue. Pierce cracked the back of his hand over Rumlow's cheek hard enough to rattle his teeth with the force of it. Rumlow's ear rang as he worked his jaw, felt the joint pop in its place while iron filled his mouth. He clenched his jaw and looked forward again.

“Ask me for more,” Pierce stated, and behind his back, Brock's hands tightened into fists.

“Hit me again, sir,” he replied quietly, and Pierce struck him again, his wedding ring slicing into his cheek. Heat pulsed involuntarily down his gut and Rumlow swallowed thickly, steeling his gaze on the wall behind Pierce's head.

Pierce wiped his ring clean with the handkerchief and Rumlow forced himself not to watch the meticulous movements of Pierce folding it neatly, and sliding it into his pocket to dispose of later.

“I recruited you," Pierce began slowly, as if talking to a child, "because you believed order only comes through pain.”

Rumlow didn't hesitate answering, “Yes, sir.”

“You understand that goes both ways, don't you? On your knees.”

Rumlow stuck his tongue in his cheek, and took his time obeying the order, falling down in front of his commander.

“Yes, sir,” he replied again, quieter than before. He wondered if Commander Pierce had a knife on him and he was going to work him over like the sniveling man the next room over. Maybe he had a gun. Rumlow wasn't fond of being pistol-whipped.  

Pierce took Rumlow's chin in his hand with a considering hum, tilting his face up to look Rumlow in the eye.

“I'm not sure I believe you.”

His breath hitched when Pierce's fingers dug in to his jaw, pain bleeding sharp through his nerves where his jaw still throbbing from the earlier blow. Pierce dug in harder and pulled up, forcing him to strain on his knees and Rumlow couldn't help the grunt at the hypertensed position. When Pierce shook him by his jaw once and told him to stay still, all that throbbing pain transformed into heat and Rumlow swallowed down the groan.

" _Christ, there's a time and a place,"_  Rumlow berated himself, and hoped to God and back Pierce didn't notice. 

He did, of course. Pierce's brow arched in surprise, this time.

“Oh...You're not all sadist in there, are you?”

Rumlow, wisely, kept his mouth shut this time, and Pierce smiled.

“Fine." Pierce let go of his jaw, ran his thumb once over a tiny trickle of blood dribbling from the corner of his lip. Rumlow's mouth almost, almost parted to that.

Pierce had the same train of thought. "Open your mouth.”

He said it as dismissively as he when he made small talk to the men upstairs, but Rumlow watched with building, numbing realization as his commander slipped his fingers through his belt, tugged the leather free. Rumlow didn't even think beyond following the order, mind suddenly spinning a mile a minute while his lips parted, and the sound of his zipper dragging down echoed in his ears like the click of a loaded gun.

Rumlow forced himself to hold his mouth wide as Pierce pulled his half-erect cock out. He'd never sucked a cock before. He told himself he didn't feel pounding heat in his gut at this, told himself it was fucking panic and--and disgust, at least, but not  _heat, not--_

“Consider this a reminder," Pierce said, "Not to bend the rules without my permission again”

Rumlow didn't have a chance to reply, not that he was stupid enough to protest, as the hand not angling his cock hooked around his jaw, and dragged him forward to push the thick length of it in, and in, and in deep until it hit the back of his throat and Rumlow gagged. His mouth felt so fucking full that he had to pull back a fraction, swallowing convulsively, and winced when Pierce's fingers dug into the sensitive joint.

“Suck.”

As much as he wanted to snark back about buying him a damn drink first, Rumlow  was many things but suicidal wasn't one of them. He knew better that. So slowly, carefully as to not choke himself, he bobbed his head along the hot length, felt it pulse and swell harder against his tongue when he tightened his lips and sucked. Pierce let him get used to the feeling, let him brace his hands on his thighs for some leverage without protest or scolding—underneath the boiling disgust--it had to be disgust--in his stomach, some small part of him was grateful for that.

As soon as he settled into a rhythm, Pierce let go of his jaw, instead rested one hand on his shoulder while the other threaded in his hair, and  _yanked_  him forward, shoving the head of his cock into the back of his throat and down, down deep and unrelenting. Rumlow gagged again, tears pricking up in his eyes as he swallowed hard and quick to keep from embarrassing himself by puking, and relaxed his throat the best he could to the hard pulls of his hair and shallow thrusts. His fingers tightened on Pierce's slacks, pain burning through his scalp at the tight hold, and against his everything he knew, or thought he knew, delicious, wicked heat coiled up in his stomach and Rumlow's cock twitched against his thigh, thickening up at each aching tug to his hair, each brutal stab down his throat. 

If it was one thing Rumlow could rely on, it was pain. Order came through pain. So did discipline. And so did this. Rumlow breathed raggedly through his nose and sucked Pierce harder, almost smirked around his cock when he heard Pierce let out a low sound, halfway between a pant and a groan. He was a good soldier. When he wanted to be.

Rumlow pressed his tongue tight against the underside and dragged his thumbs along the inner curve of his thigh, along the pulse point of the femoral artery and Pierce jerked forward once, involuntarily as both hands tangled in his hair and Pierce fucked deeper with each thrust, until his nose was brushing the hair around the base of his cock and Rumlow had to swallow around him each time to keep from gagging. He would have fucking moaned if he could. Drool leaked from his mouth, hands tight enough on Pierce's thighs probably to bruise, and briefly, he wondered if Pierce would punish him for that, too.

His dick pulsed hot against his thigh at the thought and Rumlow groaned. The vibration made Pierce's breath hitch and all at once his hips stilled, buried himself down so fucking far that Rumlow couldn't breathe. Then hot pulses of come shot down his throat and Rumlow jerked in surprise at the twitching length in his mouth, it was a weird fucking feeling but Pierce's hold was so tight on him it was like a bear trap. So Rumlow held on, and swallowed as much as he could, eyes watering up enough tp run down his cheeks from natural reaction. When Pierce pulled out, come dribbled over his chin, and Rumlow rubbed it away with his sleeve and wondered if he'd even be able to talk with how abused his throat was. 

He watched Pierce fix himself up, used the same cloth as before to wipe his dick clean before tucking himself back in and fixing his shirt. In a minute, no one would have been wiser except for the fact Rumlow was still on his knees, cheeks redder than before and lips swollen, and his pants too fucking tight to be lawful.

“Up,” Pierce commanded, and Rumlow obeyed, wincing at the ache in his knees from being on concrete too long. Pierce looks him up and down once, his gaze settling on the tent in his pants.

“As you were, agent,” Pierce said, and then turned to leave. Rumlow was to find a goddamn bathroom, screw his orders, when he heard Pierce call back.

“Oh. And Rumlow.”

Rumlow turned back around to face his Commander. 

“This was just lesson one. Hail Hydra.”

Rumlow didn't know how to classify the heat that twisted in his gut.

“Hail Hydra, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always greatly appreciated!


End file.
